


With Abandon or Not at All

by veleda_k



Category: Yami No Matsuei
Genre: Abuse, Food, M/M, The space between ship and gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2018-01-02 05:19:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1052965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veleda_k/pseuds/veleda_k
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are a hundred of things about Tsuzuki that Hisoka doesn't understand. The way he relates to food is only one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Abandon or Not at All

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Brigdh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brigdh/gifts).



> For Brigdh, for the prompt, "Hisoka and food." The full quote the title comes from is “Cooking is like love, it should be entered into with abandon or not at all.”- Harriet Van Horne

There are a hundred things about Tsuzuki that Hisoka doesn't understand. His inability to budget, even after decades; his ability to get along with everyone except Terazuma; his cheerfulness; whatever tangled mess is going on between him and Tatsumi. (The way he truly seems to love Hisoka, genuinely, without conditions.) 

Among the many things about Tsuzuki that Hisoka doesn't understand is his attitude towards food. Hisoka can appreciate good food. He prefers a properly prepared meal to cup noodles. But he can't fathom Tsuzuki's passion for food.

Hisoka's first few forays in the kitchen were disastrous, if not as humiliating as the laundry incident. (No one else knows about the laundry incident. No one else is every going to find out.) It was a shock for Hisoka to realize that he really didn't know how to take care of himself. 

So, he learned. Hisoka became an adequate cook because he didn't want to live on burnt rice and watery curry. He became a good cook because a Kurosaki does nothing he does not excel at. It's hard to leave behind lessons that were literally beaten into him.

Hisoka first noticed something was off when he began baking. He bought books on cakes, cookies, and sweetbreads, nothing he had any interest in. It wasn't hard to figure out what was going on. But Tsuzuki's face when Hisoka shoved that first batch of cookies at him made all the embarrassment worth it. 

Tsuzuki, for all that he loves food, cannot cook. His creations could be useful as chemical warfare and little else. So, as soon as he realized that Hisoka knew how, he began to invite himself over for dinner. At first, Hisoka pretended to mind, even if he had found cooking for two no more difficult than cooking for one. Eventually, even pretending annoyance was more effort than it was worth.

It's nothing special tonight, leftover fish, with some fresh vegetables one of Hisoka's neighbors brought over. (He had stared at her for several moments before he remembered to thank her. Even after all these years, he still doesn't know how to handle generosity from anybody but Tsuzuki.) Tsuzuki, however, is acting like he's sitting down to a gourmet meal. 

"Why does it mean so much to you?" Hisoka asks, then regrets it. He hadn't intended to speak aloud. "Food, I mean," he clarifies, because he might as well continue on.

Tsuzuki smiles, not his usual bright grin, but something quieter and softer. "Food's important," he says. "We wouldn't die if we didn't eat, but we'd weaken and shrivel up. Even for us, food is life." He looked down at his plate. "And food is about people. Ruka wasn't a very good cook, actually, but she tried. And she always made sure I had something to eat, no matter how little we had. When I ate her cooking, I was, um, feeling her love." He laughs self consciously. "Stupid, huh?"

"No," Hisoka says quietly. 

Tsuzuki looks at him. "It wasn't like that for you." It's not a question, because Tsuzuki has always seen too damn much. 

"No," Hisoka admits. "It was..." His throat closes up. He wants to open up to Tsuzuki, to share like Tsuzuki has just shared with him. But he lacks the words, and to speak of it would be to return to a place Hisoka is still trying so hard to escape.

Meals in the Kurosaki household were like every other moment Hisoka spent with his parents: a balancing act of impossible expectations, spoken and unspoken, and yet another futile opportunity to try to be the son his parents could love. He would barely taste the food trying so hard to keep that look of scorn off his father’s face, the revulsion off his mother’s. He would have to hope that he could keep from doing anything to remind his parents that he was a stain on the family name.

Meals in the cell had been easier. The food had been cold, and sometimes the servants had forgotten, but at least he could eat in peace. 

Tsuzuki reaches across the table and squeezes Hisoka’s hand. His eyes are gentle in the way Hisoka has only slowly come to accept. “It’s over,” Hisoka says, and Tsuzuki smiles sadly, because he of all people knows how both true and not true that statement is.

“Is there dessert?” Tsuzuki asks after several quiet moments, and Hisoka rolls his eyes. 

“I made cake,” Hisoka tells Tsuzuki, watching for the moment his eyes light up.

Tsuzuki jumps up and clears away the dishes before cutting himself a gigantic slice of cake. It makes Hisoka’s stomach hurt just looking at it. Tsuzuki takes a bite and makes a happy little humming sound. Hisoka can’t entirely keep back a smile. Tsuzuki sees it, and smiles back.

Hisoka doesn’t understand what Tsuzuki means, about food being love. But he thinks he’s beginning to figure it out.


End file.
